My Defective Heart
by ShadowedSoulSpirit
Summary: Jean Kirschtein, a twenty-six year old cop, had exactly what he wanted in life. But after an incident concerning his heart, his biggest fear has been confirmed. He will die soon. So why does Marco Bodt have anything to do with it? Modern AU. Warnings Inside.
1. Enter Jean Kirschtein, Defective Heart

**My Defective Heart**

* * *

**A Shingeki no Kyojin story.**

**Summary: Jean Kirschtein, a twenty-six year old cop, had exactly what he wanted in life. But after an incident concerning his heart, his biggest fear has been confirmed. He will die soon. So why does Marco Bodt have anything to do with it?**

**Warning: This contains language, deathly experiences, and some pairings. As of now, there's a one-sided JeanxMikasa, ConniexSasha, and JeanxMarco. More pairings may be added through the course of the story.**

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**Dedication: This story is dedicated to my lovely friend Liet, because she always tells me my writing isn't crap like I think it is.**

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**Chapter One: Enter Jean Kirschtein, the Man with the Defective Heart**

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"Hey Jean! We're on duty!" I cram the rest of my lunch into my mouth and take off after my partner, Connie. The whole police station was buzzing the moment I started my shift and there hasn't been a break since. There has been one to many calls for my likings. It seems like all the residents of Maria are celebrating.

"What's up this time?" I ask, picking stray crumbs of my hastily devoured sandwich from my uniform.

"Just some sound disturbances," He replies, swinging a key ring around his finger, "No biggy."

I'm not sure how long I've been working at the police station now. It seems like ever since the beginning, Connie was my partner, but I know that's not true. Thomas was my first. That was until his accident. Just thinking about him makes my heart thrum in my chest.

"Yo, Jean you alright?"

I shake my head to dissipate my thoughts, "Yeah I'm fine."

"You look pale man," I reach up to touch my skin, as if I could feel it through my fingertips, "You know if you're feeling sick I can take Sasha. Levi wouldn't get pissed. He'd be more angry if you went out when you're sick."

Levi is our boss, and Sasha is a fellow officer of the law.

"I'm fine. It's just a crazy day," He gives me a pointed look, "I swear. And I know you're just looking for any excuse to hook up with Sasha."

He stutters," W-whatever man… Let's just go. I'm driving."

We hop into our cruiser and Connie starts it up, backing out of the parking lot. On this particular day, my stomach is working itself up into knots. Why is that? It's just a disturbance call after all. The only bad thing about that was writing up a report when all was said and done. Connie always tries to weasel out of that.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I can see my partner's irises flickering towards me. I sigh, "Honestly, I'm fine Connie."

"Just something seems a little off with you…"

We have been working together for five years, give or take the few years that are still a bit hazy for me. He filled in the gap Thomas left behind; he's practically my best friend now. Sometimes, he knows me better than myself.

"I'm nervous," I admit," But I don't know why."

"I bet its cause of Mikasa~!"

I roll my eyes, "Think what you want."

He smiles mischievously, taking one hand off the steering wheel to jostle my shoulder. "Maybe you're day dreaming about your girl a little too much?" He teases.

"Fuck off Connie. Least I have one."

His face explodes into a blush, and I know I hit a button, "I don't have to give her the 'eyes' from across the room just to see if she waves or not."

"I-I don't do that!"

I burst out laughing. It is no secret that Connie has a thing for Sasha, to all but Sasha herself of course. It is amusing to watch my partner melt behind his desk when she asks for the remainder of his lunch.

"Right man," I manage to respond, but my breath is a little short, no matter how many times I inhale. It isn't enough. I press a hand to my chest and feel the flutter of my heart through the skin. Something isn't right. The coil in my stomach only heightens the dreadful feeling.

I've always been afraid of dying. It doesn't help that I happen to be a police officer. This feeling, the lightheaded dizziness creeping in my head, is scaring me. Why can't I breathe? It feels like a hand is squeezing my heart so tightly that it will surely burst.

"You know maybe one day I'll get the courage to talk to her," Connie continues, focusing on the road now more than me this time.

I fist my seatbelt in one hand and keep the other against my chest. I try to breathe in deeply—and cough when it stings. There is a winding thread of dread and fear knotted up in the pit of my stomach as I take a small, shaky inhale. That's when my heart convulses. It's a hard throb that catches me unaware and I gasp. It convulses again, a stinging pain numbing my chest. I can't breathe. I can hardly see, a ring of black shrinking my vision.

"Jean?" I scrabble to undo my uniform, clawing at the Velcro of my bullet proof vest, but my sight is shrinking fast and the air refuses to enter my lung.

"Jean!" I feel the car jolt and I go with it, my head hitting the passenger window so hard that I spiral into darkness.

I can't tell—can't _feel_—myself breathing. Everything is so numb and foreign that it couldn't belong to me. There's no way I could be dead right? Shouldn't there be heavenly light, a grand staircase, I don't know, singing angels? Where the hell am I? Why can't I hear Connie?

I can't be dead….right?

* * *

"Jean!"

That's Connie! At least… I think it is? It's muffled. It hit the correct octave, but is it someone who has the same pitched voice? And why are they calling my name? Oh that's right. I couldn't breathe. What happened anyway?

I try to lift my head, even open my eyes, but nothing would cooperate. My mouth feels packed with a ton of cotton balls, and I can't even lull my tongue to check. All I can feel is the tape plastered to the crease of my left arm, and the plastic digging into the bridge of my nose. Where am I? What is this stuff? I take a short breath and hastily cough; I hadn't expected to meet such resistance by breathing. I attempt to take a longer one, but it only cuts itself off again. Why can't I breathe normally?

"Jean!"

Why the hell can't they shut up? I'm almost certain it's Connie now. He sounds… scared. Why would he…? It's all coming back to me. I was in the cruiser with Connie. We were going on a call and I couldn't breathe. Does that mean I'm in a hospital right now?

If I will myself hard enough, my eyelids flutter. I focus on just that, attempting to open them, and when they lift just a crack, my retinas are scorched by the overhead light. Why is it so damn bright?

"Jean! Thank God! The doctors, they were talking… man…." I hear him sigh. Opening my eyes further, I instantly cringe at the lack of color. It is so bland it couldn't be anything else but a hospital room.

"I kinda got bad news though," My mind instinctively goes to my heart, the culprit in the matter. My expression must have alerted him.

"No… not like that," He waves his hands, "it's Mikasa."

He has every bit of my attention. I've been chasing after Mikasa's beautiful ass since high school and it was only last year that she gave me a chance. She almost matters more than being in the hospital because of something I don't understand.

"She's gone man."

"Gone…?" My voice is hoarse and hardly audible, but he still picks up on it.

"I called her and she just left."

I don't know what to focus on. The dread unraveling in my stomach, Mikasa, the flutter in my heart, or the word gone. She wouldn't get up and leave right…? Not when I need her most, need someone to help me understand what is wrong with my body.

"Gone."

It's the only word I can manage. I'm having a midlife crisis at only twenty-six and she is…gone? There's no way. What the hell? The more I think of it, the more I hear this loud thumping speeding up. It matches the beat of the heart in my throat precisely, and it is picking up fast.

"Woah man you have to calm down. You can't—"

My heart jerks and quivers and I tremble with it. My breathing staggers and I'm so scared. It is happening again isn't it? The door slams open and Connie screams for help, but black dots are exploding across my vision. I try to stay awake—to keep my eyelids up—but I only plunge back into the uncertain darkness, wondering if this time is really the end.

* * *

Mikasa is gone. I'm gone. Nothing makes much sense anymore. I'm twenty-six God dammit. What's wrong with me?! I was supposed to be getting promotions, moving up the corporal ladder instead of being stuck in a low paying job, a promise to a friend preventing me from leaving. I should be married, not wondering where the hell my girlfriend ran off to.

I should be living, and not close to dying.

What's going on? Where's Connie? Where's Mikasa? Where's Thomas?

_You know the answers. _A little voice whispers in my head. Connie's here, Mikasa's gone, and Thomas is dead. Here. Gone. Dead. I don't understand. I want to, but I can't. I should be at work, goofing off at Connie, laughing at his reactions he makes towards Sasha, and then shoving my nose in work when Levi walks by. Is this… is this a dream?

My heart seems steady now, but my short, clipped breaths remain as they did before. If there wasn't this chilled air pricking my mouth and my nose, I'm sure there wouldn't be enough oxygen for me to breath.

It takes a long time to convince myself to open my eyes. When I do, I meet nothing but darkness. No Connie. No Mikasa, like I had hoped; just the same crushing blackness as the one behind my eyelids. It must be dark outside. I try to move my head but it remains planted. I have to resort to glancing out of the corner of my eyes.

I can see a soft glow off to my left, and there it is again, the steady thrum that mimics my heart. I guess it's a heart monitor. I glance down and barely make out the transparent mask cupping my mouth. Oxygen mask maybe? I can't breathe on my own?

_Well you did pass out in the cruiser because of that. _The voice chaffs, like it is scolding a child. _It shouldn't surprise you._

Where is Connie? He must have gone home, or went back to work. I assume I am alone; until I hear _his _voice.

"Not holding up so well?" His shadow falls across my face and I look up at him. _He _is standing, when he shouldn't be at all. His eyes are lively, when before they were just as dead as a corpse.

"T-Thomas…?" He smiles softly.

"I'll be waiting."

"Waiting…? Waiting for what…?"

He doesn't respond; he simply vanishes instead. That wasn't real, although he seemed so alive, seemed like the Thomas before the accident. Before I can stop myself, the tears flush from my eyes and I cry. I cry for my dead friend. I cry because Mikasa left me. I cry because I could die, and I don't want to die.

Why me?

* * *

I almost wish I didn't wake up the next time I did. I've made it pretty clear I don't want to die, but the doctors have something else to say about that.

"I'm sorry Mr. Kirschtein, there's nothing we can do. It's your heart you see," The doctor explains, him and his counterpart standing over me like death itself.

_No I don't see. _I respond bitterly in my mind. Irony likes to be a bitch. Of course someone like me—who fears for their very life just crossing the street—would have health issues. I always assumed it would be the result of being a cop—not a defective heart. I couldn't understand. Is everything in my life just unreliable? Mikasa. Thomas. My heart.

"What's wrong with my heart?" My voice is feeble, skipping on the vowels and skidding on the consonants, but I can't bring myself to curse it now. All I can do is listen to the sporadic thump of my heart—the very heart with defection—and await my answers.

"It's hard to explain." In other words, I am going to die. I want to throw up.

"There's a way to fix it," I stare at the other doctor, but he's not enthusiastic in the slightest. He seems almost solemn in bearing a solution, "If you have a heart transplant."

I try to push it away, but my mind instantly thinks of Thomas. After his on duty accident, he became a double amputee. He said at one time or another that he didn't need his legs; they weren't that important. That was before he killed himself and left only an 'I'm sorry' as an explanation. I want to cram the memory in the back of my mind, but it won't go away, as if it was saying _he couldn't live without his legs, so how can you live without your heart?_

"We can put you on the waiting list, if that's what you wish to do."

It's hard to breathe, more so than it was before. I have always envisioned myself dying when I am too old to lift a finger; something peaceful, like just letting out a breath. But this, this is like a cough, something that won't end until it's so painful I can no longer breathe. I don't want that. I'm only twenty-six dammit. I'm too young! I don't want to die like Thomas!

All I can say in response, to the headache knocking firmly in my skull and to the knots weaving in my stomach is, "I don't want to die."

One of the doctors, or both—I can't tell, all the color is washed out by the background—nod their heads.

"Alright Mr. Kirschtein. We will do that. Do you have any immediate persons we can contact to come get you?"

"No… I mean yes. Connie... He's my partner… here's his phone number…"

* * *

"I'm sorry this happened to you bro…" I have been out of the hospital for a few days, but I doubt the impression on my nose will ever go away.

"It's not your fault." I reply to my partner—of how many years?—staring out the window as pastures warp past us. I can tell he's looking at me.

"About Mikasa…" He begins.

"I don't want to talk about her."

I think bringing her up hurts worse than my chest does right now, tightening up the closer we near the station. I can't work my job those damn doctors had said. My heart couldn't take it. I palm my chest through the fabric of my shirt. My heart was always capable. Why isn't it now? What changed? I always remember breathing fine.

Connie purses his lips and thinks. I can tell by the way his eyebrows furrow when I look his way that he's deep in thought. I decide to leave him in it.

How long will it be before my heart can't take living anymore? How long do I have before I'm buried like Thomas?0

"_We can't be sure. It's still in the early stages."_

I sigh softly. The world is cruel. I always saw that when I worked crimes. I never thought it could touch me, ruin me, break me.

"Look man… I know you're probably upset…" I watch as nature gives way to cemented parking lots and metal structures, "But we need to think positive, Jean."

"I'm going to die," He falls silent, "There's nothing positive about that."

The rest of the ride to the station is spent in silence, where my bitter resentment for the world spins around in my head. I wish there is someone to blame. I can only point my finger at God, and it's not like I can crack his head open for it. Connie pulls into the parking lot and jerks the car to a standstill. We sit like this for a while, knowing this will be the last car ride to work we will ever share again. Our last shift together had been the end of my life. Now everything is coming apart.

I pull the handle and get out first, slowly as if I am passing through a cloud, willing the nightmare to go away. My feet touch the ground and I know it's never going to end. The nightmare is my life now.

The station is the same as it always has been, but now it seems gloomier. The shadows stretch to claw at my feet as Connie and I enter together, like we have done countless times before. It seems like I took a lot for granted before it was gone. Connie. Thomas. Mikasa. Sasha. Bertolt. Reiner. Annie. Petra. Hell, even Eren and Levi, although they do get on my nerves and piss me off.

There's no chatter like there normally is. Actually, there's no one here at all. Great. My last day at work will consist of me and a box alone. Fucking fantastic. I snatch the very box off the ground where someone had left it for me, and walk to my desk while Connie goes to the back to get his coffee. He will be putting in a full shift. I won't.

In frustration, I just swipe my arm across the desktop and topple everything into the box. Why me. Why me. God dammit _why me_! I lift the box onto the desk and stare at its contents; pictures of me and the gang, even Levi's stoic face is in a few. One is of Mikasa, with the most pissed off look on her face. I delicately lift up the frame. She doesn't like her picture taken. My heart cinches, and I wonder if it's a result of my condition, or of a broken heart. I toss the picture in the trash.

Connie returns, sipping a cup of coffee, with a pleasant look on his face. He's not a morning person, even with his caffeine. Something's got him happy, and my mind narrows to one thing: Sasha.

"What's up with you?" I ask and he grins at me, like the secret is funny.

"Oh nothing. The other's left you a present in the break room."

"Happy they're getting rid of me?" He nearly chokes on his next drink.

"No man not like that," He quickly corrects, mopping up the excessive coffee on his face with his sleeve, "We're going to miss you, you know."

My heart squeezes again, and I know why: this is like a goodbye, because we don't know how long I'll live.

"_Some people have beat this before Mr. Kirschtein. They just stayed healthy and optimistic."_

"_At least, they prolonged the effects. You will die from this. It's just up to you when you do."_

"Are you okay Jean?" Connie touches my arm, breaking my train of thought.

"I'm fine."

I can feel the moisture collecting behind my eyes, the more I think about my health and the box and Connie. Taking a shaky, albeit clipped breath, I move a step away from it all. Might as well see what the others left me. I head for the break room, my partner right on my heels. I can remember clearing houses like this, me in front, Connie securing the rear. Will Connie still come visit me? Will anyone come visit me even though I have this… _disease?_

I push open the door to the break room, and instantly want to cry. Everyone, everyone who has worked n the same building as me for years, has gathered beneath a banner that said _We'll miss you Jean. _The moment I take a step they swam me, giving me hugs and murmuring how sorry they are. Levi is the only one who keeps his distance, and I couldn't' see the stupid Eren anywhere.

The voice mumbles softly, _probably gone with Mikasa, idiot. They are adopted siblings after all._

I want to disappear. I want to disappear, I want to break down, I want to scream all at the same time. I can't though. Not in front of these people. All of these emotions transfer to the fluttery pitter patter of my heart.

"When will you get better?" Someone asks.

"It's just temporary right?" Another questions.

The pain in my chest is building up, causing my breaths to stutter. Is it happening again? In front of everybody? I try to keep calm but all these people pushing around me only remind me that I will die. Tears spring into my eyes, and the world contracts around me. I probably would have fallen over right then, if it wasn't for my boss saving the day.

"Enough!" Levi snaps, his cup of caffeine poised at his lips, "Stop being like fucking rabbits and give the man his space already."

At his order, everyone takes a step back, leaving me in the center of my circle of friends. I'm twenty-six and losing everything, and the only question I can ask is why me. I stare at all the people I've worked with for years, trying to imprint every detail of them into my mind. This just might be the very last time I see them all.

"It's okay Jean…" Connie speaks.

I probably look like a fool, staring at them with tears rolling down my face. It makes me seem weak but I feel just that, so small under the crushing weight of irony. Levi unceremonially pushes his way through my co-workers to stand in front of me, and I can barely make out the blur of his hand being extended to me. I search his face for answers.

"It was nice working with you," He says and slowly, I reach up and clasp his hand. We shake, just like the day I was hired to be a cop.

My life was once perfectly woven. I was never injured on the job. The only major loss had been Thomas, and I was recovering from it. I had a girlfriend and life was great. Something had to come however, and yank the thread that bound it all together out, so everything came undone in an instant. My only hope is an elusive transplant, one that the ratios show it more than likely won't happen. First they have to attend to the others on the list, and when it reaches my name they have to search for the perfect heart. I couldn't just be given any old heart.

"_People wait on this list for years. Heart donors are few and far in between."_

I want to crawl up somewhere and will the nightmare away. I'm so scared.

I don't want to die.

* * *

**Sometimes we don't realize our greatest nightmare is the one we are living.**

**-Soul Spirit-**


	2. Enter Marco Bodt, Giving Heart

**My Defective Heart**

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**A Shingeki no Kyojin story.**

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**Chapter Two: Enter Marco Bodt, the Man with the Giving Heart**

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I soon discovered death was merciless to the cowardly. My suffering went from the stage of a broken heart because my girlfriend let me to my incapability to function on my own. It is about three months after that news was initially broken to me that I realized death was near, but he is too much of a bitch to end my suffering.

Still after it all, I don't want to die. But it's like they have already fitted my coffin, already inscribed Jean Kirschtein into stone because no one comes around anymore. At first they did. Now they don't. I feel like death has wrapped his invisible arms around me, to make people walk in the opposite direction when I come their way. They act like I have a disease, and sometimes I think I have one too. There's no other explanation for my defective heart.

I try not to think about those thoughts as I go about my daily life in my apartment. I am moving, to where I don't know. Probably closer to a different hospital, one that would either tell me it's all a fluke or provide me with a feasible solution. Somewhere far away, where I don't have to pass by the police station to get out of town and be reminded that my death will be uncertain and painful.

I cringe, heaving a box up from the floor. I can't dwell. I won't die. I will get help from doctors that actually know their shit. Soon it'll all just be a bad nightmare I'm laughing at.

I sit the box by the front door, and three more join it. The rest of my things are already gone, or belong to Mikasa, because like hell will I touch any of that stuff. The call is still bitter and fresh on my mind.

"_Mikasa where were you?"_

"_Does it matter?"_

"_Yes! I was in the fucking hospital! I was close to death when I heard my girlfriend took off!"_

"…_.Don't call me that."_

"_What? My girlfriend? Why shouldn't I?"_

"_We are through Jean. Don't call me again."_

"_What the hell?! What did I do?!"_

"_Goodbye Jean."_

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

I had redialed her number until my fingers went numb. She never answered again. I never really understood her. I just knew she was beautiful as hell, and dating her would score some major points, and piss off Eren all at the same time. It was a win win, but now I can see why no one dated her frequently or for very long. She's a cold hearted bitch. I don't want to see her emotionless face anytime soon.

But every time I think about her, no matter how harsh I get, my heart still stings. She's my weakness, the kink in my armor. Maybe my heart's defection is because it knew she left. Maybe it was rebelling to prevent a broken heart.

I sigh, and sit on top of a box. Just the little exercise makes my heart flutter in my ribcage. I've gotten used to the clipped breaths I can now take, but it still makes me lightheaded. If I am to die right here, would anyone find me? I shake my head. Of course. Connie would be the first one of the scene.

The sun is dipping into the horizon, its beams of light echoing to form oranges and reds and a thin strip of yellow. I better hurry up. I need to be on the road soon. I give my heart another two minutes—and when it shows no signs of improvement—I shrug and stand up anyway. It is a short walk to the vehicle. I could make it.

I pick up a box, the entirety of my closet, and walk to the door, striding down the metal stairs to reach my pick-up truck. It was a piece of junk, but it's the only thing I could get on such a late notice. As I go to retrieve another box, I can't help but let my mind skip to Connie. Would he miss me when I'm gone? Like dead and six feet under?

No, dammit Jean, you _will _not die! Stop thinking like that!

The little voice inside my head couldn't help but add its input. _You know better. You're gonna die._

"I am not going to die…" I mutter under my breath, cramming the next box into the overflowing truck bed.

My heart is like a drum, pounding so hard that my chest aches. I lean against the rusted paint of the vehicle and glance up at the apartment. The other two boxes mean nothing to me. They can be left behind.

I get into the single cab, patting myself on the back as I turn it on with a croak. I can't do physical activity _my ass._ Those doctors are idiots. I peel out of the parking lot, the faster I get out of here means the faster I can escape the memories of my friends, of Mikasa, and of that final hand shake from Levi. The strings bonding them to this place will keep them anchored while I head over the hills and pasture grounds, away from Maria forever.

I glance up at the rearview mirror, my pale skin radiating from the dwindling rays of dusk. My heart is like the motor of this shitty truck; sputtering and coughing, making all the blood drain from my face to go assist the heart.

I tenderly touch my skin, my fingers the same shade as my face.

I don't realize I have drifted into the other lan until there is a crunch, and everything moves forward, my head connecting with the steering wheel to spiral me into a deep darkness, with only my irregular heartbeat to keep me company.

* * *

**A New Voice**

I'm not one for introductions, so you don't need to know who I am. The only crucial detail relevant to the story is that I am a major character.

I am the antagonist.

Although Jean's Kirschtein palpable hate for me is interesting to observe, he is useless to me when his mind is blank and empty. I decide to watch the world he is missing to satisfy my growing boredom.

The police station is like one giant party, and Connie couldn't help but glance at the empty desk of his partner, expecting to see the man there egging his nemesis Eren on from across the room, but is disappointed when he sees it's still empty. No one wants to replace Jean, and although he did want to be around Sasha, it didn't feel right to have another partner.

"Hey Corporal! Watch this!" Eren is balancing on the seat of a rolly chair, wobbling each time it makes an abrupt turn. He is addressing their boss, Levi, like everyone is supposed to but blatantly ignores.

"I hope you crack your skull open as a lesson." The man replies, unamused, and Eren couldn't help but pout.

For a brief period, the boy had disappeared without a word to anyone; it is obviously that is the elephant in the room, especially for Levi.

"Hey Connie!" Connie's face lights up with a blush faster than a Christmas tree when Sasha sits on his desk, and leans over his paperwork.

"Got any snacks~?"

She is so close. Connie could feel his heart speeding up, his blood pumping hard to keep up with the rapid function.

"S-Sorry I don't."

She grins mischievously, leaning in closer just to see him get even more flustered. Eren whistles from across the room.

"Yeah you get her Connie!"

The boy stutters while Sasha laughs, pulling away to hop off the desk. She goes to bother someone else.

"I hate you!" He shouts, and Eren gives him a thumbs up, his balance dangerously teetering

"Glad I could help bro!" Connie wads up a piece of paper and throws it at him and Eren, thinking it is something worse, attempts to bat it away, and ends up falling off the chair.

"Are you okay?" Bertolt asks, his station nearest to the scene of the accident. Connie bursts out in laughter at his colleague's failure, and Sasha couldn't help but approach him again.

A phone begins to ring, like it has so many times during the day, and while most of the officers ignore it, Levi grudgingly lifts it up between his thumb and forefinger—because God knows who has touched it before—and let the speaker hover next to his ear.

"Corporal Levi of the Maria Police Department speaking."

"We have a car crash," Levi recognizes the voice of his commanding officer, Erwin, in an instant, "Two vehicles, and a possible fatality. EMS needs a road block and an escort at all possible."

"Understood," He eases the phone back into the cradle, and clears his throat.

"Listen up!" A hushed silence falls over everyone, "We have an accident! I need six squad cars at the scene immediately. Four for a roadblock, two for an escort, got it?"

"Yes Corporal Levi!"

All the officers scurry around, grabbing their partner's arms or searching for misplaced keys. Connie spares another glance at Jean's desk, the one that hasn't been occupied for months, before his keys are stolen from his hands.

"I'll drive," It is Sasha.

Car crashes aren't rare in Maria, because my hand has been in several. A few times a month the police would be called out for such, but normally it was a single car accident. Once or twice a year maybe, there would be a double automobile accident, but never has anyone died from a crash in these parts. My presence is why Connie's fingers feel numb as they fidget in his lap.

"I'm sure it's okay." Sasha's eyes are trained on the flickering lights of the cruiser before her, her back as straight as a board. "It can't be that bad."

Connie shakes his head, "I don't know…"

They take a sharp turn, causing his shoulder to nail the passenger door. Sasha mutters an apology. Her part-time partner remains silent, thinking about if Jean was still here, he would be the one driving instead of Sasha. He would have something to do. They would talk a little about a lot of things, and help clear the thick air associated with a dire call.

His absence now makes the atmosphere stagnate, and although his one wish is to be closer to Sasha, it's wrong. It's so wrong to Jean. It wouldn't be fair to him at all. It's all he can think about.

"I bet he'll come back someday," Sasha says.

"Who…?"

"Jean."

Connie lets out a little sigh. If only they knew. He hasn't had the heart to tell anyone—not even Jean himself—the extent of his condition. Something sour forms in the pit of his stomach. He hasn't been in contact with his best friend in a while. Maybe after work, he should pay his a visit.

"Oh God…" The girl breathes, and Connie looks up.

The accident is like a blender, shredded pieces of metal skewed on the ground, boxes of someone's possessions spilling onto the earth. A truck lays overturned in the ditch, with a Sudan crunched in its belly. They must have collided, and slid into the ditch together. Honestly, this isn't my doing. I would have come up with something more…creative.

"Connie…"

Sasha's eyes are amongst the boxes, where some of the cardboard is split and leaking its treasure's, others somehow intact. That's when Connie sees it. A police uniform, perfectly folded, lies on the roadway, like it had been recently placed there. He doesn't need to read the name tag. He knows.

Connie jumps out of the cruiser before it even comes to a stop, sprinting towards the emergency responders congregating near a body. It couldn't be Jean right? There's no way. I find that thought amusing.

He hears Sasha call for him, but he doesn't stop; not until he's standing over the responders, and sees his face with his own eyes, his two-toned hair bleached with blood.

"JEAN!"

One of the responders tries to push him away, but he wrestles against their grip to get closer to his friend.

_Oh God… Is he dead?! _I can hear his voice ringing clearly, as if the words had fallen from his lips.

"Springer!" Levi is behind him, hooking his arms around his chest to heave him away from his possibly dead partner.

"No!" He fights back.

Levi hisses when Connie throws an elbow into his chin, but refuses to let him go, least he got in the medical teams way.

"He's still alive idiot. They wouldn't be working on corpse."

It doesn't matter. Connie knows Jean needs someone. He knows how afraid he is of dying. He'll need someone he knows by his side… just in case I decide to come.

The medical staff places his best friend's limp body on a gurney, cramming him into the back of the ambulance before hauling—mind my phrase—ass down the roadway, one police team in front and another in the rear. Connie relaxes in Levi's hold, but his mind is racing as fast as that ambulance. Is it the end for his best friend? He has to be there. He has to.

He doesn't even ask permission. He just runs backs to the cruisers, and orders Sasha to get to the hospital. She drives off without another word.

* * *

It's either something about speed or even desperation that gets people killed. Not that it makes a difference to me. Even when the astronomical unlikelihood that two seemingly similar accidents in the same night would happen were so low, it still managed to come about. It was so unexpected, and all of Maria was not prepared when the daily news hosted not one column, but two columns about two different car accidents.

Nothing like this has ever happened in the town's history. Just like Jean Kirschtein's condition, these accidents were sudden and abrupt, just like my abduction of a handful of souls that afternoon.

Police sirens rang ceaselessly all night.

* * *

"Okay Marco, are you ready? You have two new cases. If you need any help just let me know alright?"

The boy dubbed Marco smiles graciously, "I'll be alright miss. Just leave it to me."

I don't know why but as I was returning to Jean's soul, I couldn't help but find this boy entertaining.

The hospital has been a live wire ever since I walked in, although I haven't been called for business yet. Marco had heard from a friend of a friend that there was an accident, and he had to be there. It isn't like he is a nurse. Marco actually has no desire to be one at all. He comes to the hospital to spend time with the patients, especially the ones who have no one to visit them but me.

It is his good nature that brings him here. He likes to see the smiles on people's faces as he walked in. He enjoys spending time with people going through a rough spot, and need a little happiness in their life. I am particularly fond of this boy. I have touched him once, he was in my grasp, and yet he still escaped. He is only one of a few.

_How long have I been doing this? _He wonders, collecting the two new folders from the front desk. His mother had introduced him to this at a young age he is sure. Perhaps five-years-old was the first time, and he has been doing it in her memory ever since.

"Hey Marco," The boy looks up, and sees a familiar blond, his loose hair bunched up into a wilting ponytail.

"Hey Dr. Arlert," The blond rolls his eyes at the title.

"Please call me Armin, Marco. We are friends after all."

Marco chuckles, "Sorry I can't help myself."

"Did you hear about the new patients?"

"Yep." He taps the folders with his index finger. I consider if the patients will be acquaintances of mine sometime soon. It doesn't seem like.

"Seems pretty bad. They are from Eren's police squad.

Marco had met Eren once. The officer promptly nicknamed him freckled Jesus which I find comical considering he has been closer to me than any other God. Marco couldn't understand how someone as soft spoken as Armin could handle the firecracker that is Eren Jaegar.

"Close friends?"

Armin shakes his head, "I don't think so. But they all did go through training together, so maybe."

"Dr. Arlert to the emergency room. Dr. Arlert to the emergency room bay," An intercom blares, and Marco couldn't help but wince. It seems like I'll be needed as well. I remain only a little longer, to observe.

"Gotta run."

"See you later Armin," The blond doctor takes off down the hallway in a half-speed walk, half-jog sort of way, already working on his latex gloves. Marco decides it is about time to get started on his own job. He opens up the first folder.

_Jean Kirschtein, incurable heart condition. Suffered a concussion in a double automobile accident. No known living relatives. Currently submitted to oxygen therapy until he is conscious._

He frowns_. Poor guy. He probably has it rough then._ Being unconscious, he couldn't do much for him. He'll have to wait until he's awake before he can properly introduce himself to him. He swaps files and opens up the next one. Someone had rushed to complete it, scribbling in some answers while leaving others, like the name, blank; but I know who it is.

_Double automobile accident. Fractures. Breaks. Deceased person in car as well._

_You lost someone… I'm so sorry. _His eyes water.

He feels for these people. Their pain is his pain. He takes a deep breath, and swipes up the stray tears with his hands. He puts on a smile, and tucks the folders under his arm, walking down the hallway. He rehearses what he would say to this person like he always did before he engaged in a conversation.

_Hello. My name is Marco Bodt. What's yours?_

I go to the emergency bay. Someone's soul is waiting for pickup

* * *

**Life is a beautiful life. Death is the painful truth.**

**-Soul Spirit-**


End file.
